


My Devotion

by jeromevaleska



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasizing, Internal Conflict, Jerome has a lot of fantasies, Jerome's POV, Masturbation, Mental Anguish, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, POV First Person, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Reader-Insert, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Swearing, Tumblr Prompt, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:09:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6113230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeromevaleska/pseuds/jeromevaleska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jerome can't keep his mind off you, no matter how hard he tries to chase it away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Devotion

It was all her fault. She was to blame for it all, for making me feel like this.

I knew she was doing it on purpose, just to taunt me.

The brush of knees when we sat side by side, the corner of her elbow hitting mine, the passing brush of her fingers were enough to set fire to the pit of my stomach.

The first thing I noticed about her was her eyes, the twinkle in them whenever she greeted me, and it wasn't long after that her laugh enthralled me. From that point on, I would think about her smile, her lips, her mouth. Something just drew me to it; when her mouth stretched into a lazy smile, the way her whole face lit up when she grinned, the way her lips trembled the slightest bit when she was angry or scared.

It was the way she was looking at me as we were sitting across the bench from one another, chewing on cotton candy. The look on her face was like she couldn't decide if she wanted to fuck me or figure me out. I would take both options if it meant I could have her. It's her expression when she walked back to her porch, there's a combination of shame, timidity, and lust in those eyes of hers, and it shouldn't make me want her more, but it does and the ache of longing in my chest persisted. Whenever she looked at my way, even if it was only a glance, I found myself thinking about how I needed to have her, it was pathetic, absolutely fucking pathetic.

Since meeting her, I was in a constant state of arousal. I adored her but at the same time she made me hate her. I wanted to ravage her, every part of her, mark every inch of her skin and show her exactly who she belonged to. But instead I kept it all bottled inside, it made things easier.

I'd indulged once, just one time and that was all it took to plant the seed that seemed to spread into every corner of my mind. Soon it was the only thing that would get me off, and I hated it. I felt like a fraud instead of a friend, every thought was a betrayal. It was like taking the precious gift of her smile she'd given me in trust and using it for my own perversions. She didn't know, but I still felt it was written all over my face.

"I'll be seeing you around, J," she winked and waved at me before stepping upon her porch and opening the door in front of her. 

Why did she have to be so fucking perfect? I could strangle her right now and she'd still look just as beautiful as she did at this very moment.

"Goodnight princess, don't have too much fun without me," I said with a chuckle as I waved back at her. 

"You wish," she replied but I was already gone by the time she looked back.

There was something intoxicating about the restraint, though, of holding myself until the very last moment, when I finally couldn't take it anymore, when I could finally let go and well, what a rush that was.

It wasn't long before I reached my bed and that's when the wait was over.

Every time that we would spend time together, all I could do was study her, fantasize about her. I imagined what her face would look like twisted with ecstasy, her torn from limb from limb. What she tasted like. The thought of her coming undone before me, making her come just for me, her nails in my flesh.

Every so often, there were these little moments that happened, moments in between, where she was somehow or another, close enough that I could almost taste her presence. I felt like she was there with me, in the flesh.

Sometimes, on the very deepest, darkest nights, the ones where I was so cold I'd sell my own soul just to feel something. I wanted---needed to taint her pretty little light. To take that innocence and twist it to reflect the world around her as it really was, the world I saw and lived and breathed and fed on.

I thought of her, listened for her, wandering through my house. Imagined her, small and soft and sweet, maybe listening for me. Maybe wandering by my door and thinking to herself, "What could he be doing in here? Maybe I should make sure he's okay."

Then she puts her hand on the door, pausing as though to knock before deciding against it. Slowly, ever so slowly, she turns the knob. The door creaks just slightly as she opens it and she freezes, afraid to be caught. But no, no it's okay. Shyly, she enters, a little hesitant, her almost-but-not-quite body humming with nervousness but maybe also with anticipation. Excitement. Certainly the faded echo of adrenaline. 

And there she is, at my door. And then there she is, at my bed, I can feel her presence teasing at my senses, like gauzy grey window drapes caught on the edge of a breeze. I'm still sitting, tangled in the sheets, and now she's next to me, so close but not nearly close enough, with that strange combination of uncertainty and boldness that never fails to make me smile, so I do.

She smiles back, coyly, fingering the collar of her sweater that hangs oh-so low like it inexplicably does sometimes. Only maybe a little more than usual. Yes, like that. And oh, she doesn't have on her leggings, or her boots, or her white undershirt, just her sweater hanging off one shoulder. Just to torture me.

Here, in this safe place, she was mine, and her desire for me possessed her.

In this place, her face was smooth, open, and she wouldn't stop smiling. Her hair was down and wavy, tangled and free. She was full of breath, full of words and of kindness and torture, her beauty was overwhelming. I couldn't get the image of her delicate, smooth body under mine. I wanted to leave bite marks all over her body and then I would kiss each one so that she was always reminded that she was mine.

I couldn't stop staring at her skin. There's so much of her skin that I've never seen, and I'm anything but unaware of it. My eyes scanned every inch of her body and she's watching me with those flushed cheeks, like she's embarrassed but she shouldn't be. I wanted, oh how I needed, so badly it made my heart ache. Her lips, how they parted slightly and all I can see is that little space where her tongue moves against her teeth.

She's looking at me, her expression is a mix of wonderment and delight and trust and everything that makes her perfect. And underneath all that is just a bit, just a whisper of how much she needs me, and it's everything I could have ever wanted. I took it all in, everything, it was just the two of us.

Her hand rises, reaches out, and grazes my temple, making me shiver under her fingers. They glide, light as a thought half-finished, over my cheek, next to my jaw, along my neck, across my chest, and then down to where my breath catches in my throat and my mouth falls open. My eyes glaze over and all I can feel is her touch on me.

I'm still staring at her face, can't look away from it, and I couldn't even if I tried, but I never wanted to. She leaned in and opened her mouth to speak, but it ends up being swallowed because I'm already kissing her, getting lost in her scent and her plump lips. They were soft, pink, full. I bit into them and she moaned into my mouth, saying my name. We stayed like that for a little before I felt her touch my upper thighs, my hands suddenly awake and alert, eyelids heavy. I sought her approval, craved her attention. In the vivid picture in my mind, she wanted me just as much as I wanted her. I had never seen a girl who looked as beautiful and as graceful as her. I held her soft, small hand, gripping me as I guided her through it all. Then it was her smell. Intoxicating. I breathed her in. It lingered on my hand, where I touched her.

She was all I could think about when I closed my eyes, how perfect her lips fit against mine, how it would feel for her to brush them over the head of my cock, the slightest drag of teeth against it. Would she be on her knees and let me put my hands in her locks to guide her, or was she the type that would push me down and kneel over me, devouring me like a predator with its prey? I found that I liked the idea of her on her knees for me, at my mercy as I made her gag on it. 

I wrapped my hand around my cock with the vision of her perfect, full lips wrapped around it. The wet heat of her mouth taking me in, the bow of her lips pursed around me, looking up at me with wide eyes as my cock moved in and out, over and over again. She couldn't keep her eyes off mine as she hollowed her cheeks around me. My breathing became ragged as I pumped faster, harder, chasing release.

But then I hear a knock. A knock on my door. My eyes flashed open and she was still knocking on the door, only louder. Usually I would stop altogether, only this time I didn't, I was so close, this close to finishing and if she could just, if she would just...

"Jerome?" my name drifted hesitantly from beyond the door, falling at last from her lips. I stayed silent.

For some time afterward, all I could hear was my own irregular breathing, the sweet, pulsing sense lingered in my veins, pounding through my head and prickling my skin. Finally, the frantic knocking on my door penetrated the thick fog, and her voice reached me, heavy with worry.

"Jerome, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, dollface," I croaked harshly, half afraid and half thrilled that she would open the door. If she did then, maybe things wouldn't take a turn for the worst and she would oblige me.

"Are you sure?" she asked before adding, "You seemed kind of distant today, like you didn't want to talk to me. If I did something to upset you, please let me know I'll fix it I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to me--"

She was rambling on so I cut her off, "Don't be such a worrywart, I'm just peachy, doll, really," I reassured her. Why did she have to seduce me by voicing her concerns for my well-being? Like if I told her what was wrong, she would do whatever I said. Fuck. I hated her.

"Do you want me to come in? Do you want to talk about it?" she continued. I could practically hear the hopeful smile on her face, and my insides clenched around a hard ball of self-loathing. There she was, just wanting to make sure I was okay, and here I was, jerking off to the thought of her perfect body accommodating me.

And in an instant, I was going to tell her. I really was, but for some reason I fought against it and I replied, "No," I managed, "no I'm fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay, if you're sure. Goodnight, J," she uttered softly. I could still feel her hovering hesitantly at my door for a while before I answered again, "I'm sure. Goodnight, get some sleep,"

Her presence shifted away then, and in the condemning silence she left in her wake I could at least breathe a little easier. There was a voice in the back of my mind screaming at me for not pulling her right then and there to my room, pouring my heart out to her, and claiming her, so I had to hush it for the time being. It wasn't time yet. I had to reel her in, make her desperate for more, make her feel as though there wouldn't be life after me, like she wouldn't be able to breathe air if she didn't have me. I needed to wrap her completely and utterly around my finger, suffocate her with my devotion.

Blindly, I reached for the towel I had strewn somewhere across the floor.

I slept with it that night, dreaming of her while my heart pounded in my chest.

When my eyes opened, all I could see in front of me was the bright sunlight peeking through my window. I sat up in bed, and I was alone. I blinked as I looked back at the clock on my desk, counting down the hours until I would see her. A smile spread across my face and I silently mouthed her name.


	2. My Babydoll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerome has to have you, and he thinks he might be getting just that.

The warmth of her scent surrounds me, lurking in my senses before I'm even fully awake. Beside me, the sheets are cool, and a faded murmur lingers in my head of her sweet voice. I thought of her scent, how fucking addictive it was, even when I got a small whiff of it.

My hips grind into the mattress in remembrance of her soft hands. I find that I miss her kisses even though I've never kissed her. I know that I need it. And in my head, it's her favorite thing, beyond touching or stroking her fingers over any inch of me she can get at. She kisses me like she means it, like she invented it, like she'd die without it. The soft gasp she lets out makes me weak as I lay here, my fingertips skating over my lips in a poor replacement for your mouth. I want her tongue stroking mine. I want her teeth in my bottom lip, and to hear her moan and push her hips into mine, conveying so much more than a chaste press of mouths.

My breath comes faster when I think of the things I would let her do to me. I welcomed each one with an open mind, and she never disappoints, pushing me beyond what I thought my limits were, making me feel a bursting in my nerves and my heart that I hadn't even read about before. I didn't know I'd like the pain she provided as she worked me through one orgasm after another with only her fingers, and I was overused and abused, swollen, sick, and 'so fucking pretty and pink', words that were seared into my brain the moment she whispered them. Her eyes had glowed as she looked to me for reassurance, for guidance, and that is what makes me more breathless than when her grip closes over my cock and holds me down to her will.

Fuck, she's so fucking beautiful. I love thinking about her looking at me like she's barely hanging on, a desperation in her wide eyes, begging me to keep fucking her and telling me how much she loves having me inside of her. Her acceptance, her surrender, it swallows me whole. It blows my mind the way she bends and twists and buckles. She succumbs to my every whim, and she loves it. I think she needs it, and so do I.

I need her more though, her skin and her lips and her scent and her taste. Her blood and her breath hold secrets, humming, murmuring, guiding me. Sometimes I think I'm the one who's yielding. I don't even want to think about not having her, not touching her, never being allowed to make her move and moan and come, holding back, biting my tongue, and sitting on my hands. I want to make her neck black and blue with my love bites and not leave an inch of it uncovered with them.

I wish she could see her face; euphoric doesn't come close to covering it. I don't think there is a word to describe the utter fucking bliss before her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter, her lips gasp, my hand turning her skin bright pink between my fingers. That look on her face tells me everything I need to know. It's what tells me right where to stop. That moment of rapture that can't be trumped up, and that neither of us ever want to miss—delicate and volatile and so fucking real.

And she begs me, so sweet. She begs me to hurt her a little bit more, she has no fucking idea what that does to me. She can't know. She has to know it drives me crazy, but what exactly it does, she can't know. She pushes me to the edge, she really does. But her eyes and the vibration from her skin, she's like a magnetic field that won't let me drop away. There are no limits because we'll always be here for each other. Neither of us can fall, not from here, and I'll always come back to you.

She's such a good girl. Sometimes I don't even have to tell her what to do, she knows what I like, what I need. But then, I do like to play with her, fuck with her a little bit. She likes it too, even though I see that frantic look in her eyes when it happens; but that's part of the ride.

Then she remembers where she is and who we are, and that I'm going to take care of her, and she relaxes. She lets me do whatever I want. She trusts me. She'll never know how much that means to me, that she trusts me with her body and her mind. She doesn't hold back and she doesn't expect me too, either.

When I'm alone, like I am right now, it's these thoughts that keep me company: warm, naked skin, the soft curve along her shoulders, and every inch of her skin like a map of all places my lips have landed. She's too fucking delectable to not sink my teeth into, and I think she likes it when I tease, no she fucking loves it when it hurts and I'm the cause of it.

There was no way for me to tell that she liked to get as much as she got, until my hands grip her and hold her down until she's begging through clenched teeth. She sweats so well for me, and I've seen her shake a time or two, is that her guard coming down? Is that when I see her for her, open and so utterly mine that my breath comes in little gasps and I pant along with her?

Or is it when she's deep inside, over or under, thick and hot either way, and she shoves everything else aside with a steady, swift hand to my thigh, a rough sharp order, telling me to hold still, or to speed up, or how she's going to be a good girl and fucking come for me?

I'm consumed by her, drowning in her, pulled in an undertow of such abandon that sometimes I can't even catch my breath before she's at it again, and taking everything she can get her hands on.

I'm wild with her, like I am with no other. I just want to take her. Feeding on fever, down on all fours, show her what all that howl is for. She tells me it's never been this way, that she's never felt this way. I don't know how to tell her that, but I can show her that I feel the same. She's the best I've ever had; my favorite playmate, my favorite toy. I show her hard and hot and fast, blood and fire and sweat. Babydoll, I'll show her everything, blow her mind the way she blows mine, keep her guessing.

It's just her and me, skin on skin, sweat and tears, and fuck it's so good. It's always so good, better than, but what the fuck can I say? What's a better word than 'good when we both feel it? Does it even matter, the word? No, it doesn't fucking matter. All that matters is that we keep doing it, that we keep feeling it, that we keep making it good.

Like when we kissed, it's just been one, long dance. It's never-ending and we're always connected. I can taste her pussy on my fingers and my lips because she's a part of me, seeping through my skin, down into my bones. All I can think about is how wet she must be when she comes against my face, on my hand, clenching my fingers so fucking tight. And she was loud, her cry echoing in my mind hours later. I didn't think she could come anymore, she was so swollen and pink, but she was so pretty I couldn't help myself, and she let me.

She let me spread her out on the bed, pushing her knees up and open and bury myself to the hilt. She was willing and breathless, helpless, palms open and relaxed on either side of her flushed cheeks, her elegant fingers, slightly curled, and she took it all. She took everything I had and it was perfect, so fucking perfect. She felt full and slick like I'd never felt anything before, and on each inward pass, I willfully took her breath away.

I close my eyes as the sounds around me fade away, and I can see and feel her, smell her. She's muttering nonsense. I made her do that by fucking her senseless. She came so many times already and now she's throbbing around me again.

She has such a pretty little cunt, and I make sure I tell her that. _All mine_. I slip and slide and roll my hips. I grind against her, holding her open and all she can do is take it with a whimper. But there's that look---here it comes. That look of ecstasy, divine fucking intervention, I don't even know, and she gasps and her back arches and her skin glistens in the light of the moon. Her tits are jutting up and out and her arms are thrown wide, and she's the most beautiful thing I've ever, ever seen in my life. Beneath me, around me, so hot and slick and raw, she's the onslaught of perfection and intensity and everything I've ever wanted.

When she comes, I come, ferocious and strained, and on fire. I let her knees drop from my hands and pitch forward over her, onto her, rolling us both to the floor. She collapsed on top of me, and we finally sleep.

And that's when it ended. I had to see her. I wondered if she arrived already, like if she had been playing one of those boring games while she waited for me. I walked over to the sink to rinse my hands and averted my gaze from the reflection in the mirror.

I slipped a coat on before I stepped out the door, and my eyes searched aimlessly for where she could be but I didn't see her. I walked around longer than I should have to try and find her but she wasn't anywhere in sight. I decided that I should probably go over to her place and check on her because maybe she still felt like I was upset with her, when I was, but it didn't mean I didn't want to see her.

I didn't care to tell my bitch of a mother that I was leaving, she could find out for herself. I just had to see her that nothing else mattered.

I rapped lightly on her door, but there was no answer. Either she didn't hear me or she wasn't there. I impulsively opened the door as quietly as I could and peered inside. The sight that met my eyes stunned me, and I found myself frozen in disbelief.

She was lying on her bed, her skirt pushed up to her waist and her undergarments at her ankles, her top discarded somewhere on the floor. Her eyes closed in bliss, her left hand at her breasts while her right was between her thighs. Her lower lips were spread, and her fingers were rubbing frantically at her clit.

"Jerome..." she murmured.

I was dumbstruck. She wanted me. She needed me. Fuck. It was a sight to see. I know the gentlemanly thing to do would be to turn away, but I clearly wasn't that, and I didn't fucking care when this was something I longed to see since we met.

She called my name again to herself, and I could feel my cock hardening against the fabric of my pants, blood quickly rushing to my groin. Without a second thought, I unbuttoned them and grasped myself in my hand. I would have been able to slink away before she could see me, had I not involuntarily made my presence known by a low growl.

Her eyes shot open and landed on me, wide in embarrassment. "Jerome!" she stammered, hurrying to cover herself. "I... I..." she didn't know what to say but she finally said, "What are you doing here?"

But in an instant, I was beside her and I pushed her skirt up once more before I could even register what I was doing.

"May I?" I asked. She could do little more than nod. I began to run my finger lightly against her folds, savoring the little noise of appreciation she made when I brushed against her clit. But I could do much more than that.

Dropping to my knees, I brought my face between her thighs and began to lap at her with my tongue.

"Oh! Jerome..." she whimpered my name, and I fucking loved the way it sounded on her tongue. Smirking, I took her clit between my lips and started to suck, enjoying the gasps that escaped her lips. She tasted so fucking good, I felt like I was going to lose my mind if I had to stop.

"Jerome... wait, stop," she whispered softly, her cheeks flushed. Much to my disappointment, I drew away, probably looking like a wounded animal. Perhaps she had realized that she didn't want this, that she didn't want me.

But that wasn't the case at all. "I want you," she murmured, sitting up to reach for me, before she continued, "Please, let's cut to the chase and just fuck,"

I could hardly believe what I was hearing, it was too fucking good to be true. That was all the invitation I needed, but I decided to tease her anyway. "Hm, if you have a condom then yes."

She giggled at that and reached over to her dresser, fetching it hurriedly before pulling it out. I watched her the whole time and I felt myself harden upon seeing her ass covered with the soft fabric of her skirt.

She plunked down on my lap suddenly, her eyes glittering as she looked into my eyes. She laughed a little and then pulled off her shirt, dropping it to the floor behind her somewhere. She swung the small foil wrapper in front of me and made a show of unwrapping it, then holding up the latex barrier.

My cock was standing proudly at attention in my pants. I fucking needed her, that much was for sure. My fingers didn't even hesitate to drop down my pants and underwear down, allowing my length to spring free.

She wasted no time, unclasping her bra off and tossing it away before she slipped off my lap and into the floor between my legs. The condom was placed on my leg and her hand wrapped around my length, pumping smoothly until I was bucking into her touch, moans falling freely from my parted lips. I fucking needed this like I needed my next breath.

I reached down, curling my fingers in her soft hair, tugging her closer with a pleading look. Her lips purse for a moment and then she blew heated air across my dick. "Ask for it, Jerome."

Demanding little bitch. The thought crossed my mind with a million others, but I smirked before I told her, "Put the condom on with your mouth."

She gave me this look that clearly told me that wasn't what she was expecting. Really, it wasn't what I was expecting to say either, but it was what came out nonetheless. Then she shrugged, picking up the condom and popping it into her mouth, poking at it with her tongue until it was in the right place, and then leaned over my lap. With a soft smile, she took the head of my cock in her mouth and began rolling the condom down with each bob of her head.

I groaned, arching up, my cock throbbing with pleasure. It wasn't long before she had the condom all the way down my length and she was just blatantly sucking me off instead. I didn't stop her because her warmth mouth was fucking bliss. I started thrusting up to meet her every downward motion, almost desperate to get the most out of this encounter.

When I felt my muscles started to tense unnaturally, I stopped, pulling lightly on her hair until she relented and looked up at me. "Let me take you, doll."

But I just had to kiss her first. My heart soared before I closed the gap between us, slanting my lips over hers. I'd go to any lengths to have her, to please her, no matter what she'd asked of me I'd be there, I wanted her to be mine and only mine.

The moment our lips touched, she let out a light gasp, her hands pulling me in closer. There was an electricity that sparked between our contact and it had us both moaning, scrambling to have one another closer as mouths opened, tongues rapidly exploring, curling around one another intimately. One of my hands went to her waist, trying desperately to pull her closer as our teeth clacked together in the haste, which made her giggle as she pushed her hands into my hair, winding her fingers along the locks there.

I didn't know how much time had past when we pulled away, I only knew that I could kiss her all day and that whenever she touched me, lightning sparked between us, and my heart ached to have her near. Her eyes slowly opened, licking her lips as she looked up at me with a smile. I smiled back at her, lips still tingling with the taste and touch of her lips.

She was quick to push her skirt off along with her panties before she returned to my lap.

"Ready?" she asked. Fuck yes I was ready. I took a moment to appreciate her body before I nodded my head, it was as perfect as I imagined it'd be. Her body slowly lifted and then she plunged down on my length, her warmth enveloping me and I groaned at the sudden motion. She was incredibly slick, I could feel it, even through the condom.

A partial smile filled my lips at the fact that she was enjoying this just as much as I was. And then she was moving, her body lifting and falling, each motion bringing me higher and higher.

"Fuck," I growled, "you feel so fucking good, I knew you would," I told her, my hands reaching to grab her breasts, weighing each one in my palms, loving the fact that I got to explore every inch of her body now. My thumbs caressed her nipples, watching them harden into nubs beneath my touch. I leaned down, taking one into my mouth and sucking greedily on it until she stopped her movement, instead of grinding herself against me, she moaned and gasped.

It was then that I lost control, I grasped her hips and flipped her over, pushing her into the plush material of her bed and re-positioned myself before plunging back into her body.

My pace was faster than hers, more frantic and aimed at finding my release rather than drawing it out. I slid one hand down between us and found her clit with the pad of my thumb, flicking it over in a circular motion until she was arching from the bed, those incredibly arousing sounds falling from her lips every few seconds.

"Jerome... Ohhh, your cock feels so good!" she cried out, gripping onto the sheets as she met each thrust. I loved having her at my mercy like this, it was just like it was in my head, only a million times better because it was real and I could see what her face looked like as I fucked her instead of what my imagination made up.

My thrusts became more erratic and my breathing started doing that hitching thing it does when I'm getting close and trying not to scream. To hell with it. I thrust harder, my thumb still working at her clit as moans and cries leave her throat.

She started shaking, gasping as her muscles released and then clenched back down around me, repeating the process over and over. I was done for, my body was unable to take the additional stimulation and my cry joined her as I thrust in a few more times. I was so achingly close, so close.

My eyes blinked open. Instantly, I snapped them closed, as if to will myself back into dreamland. To no avail. I sighed, running a hand over my brow. It took me a few moments to register where I was; alone in my bed.

"Of course," I thought. I was drenched in sweat that clung to my skin, and I gazed around at the dull, gray walls. With a groan of pure frustration, I hurriedly grasped my erection firmly, trying to hold onto the dream. I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my chest as I thrust erratically into my fist.

"Damn her," I whispered between heavy panting. I could feel the fire spreading inside me again as my legs tensed, quickening the pace of my hand. With a low moan, I finally came, weeks of pent up frustration and lust draining out of me. Enveloped in the darkness and silence, my breathing slowed down gradually.

I felt something akin to shame, and a sort of emptiness at being alone on my bed in the dark cold room, without her. I shook myself mentally.

No, it's better this way, safer this way.

 _Fucking coward_.


	3. My Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You give a gift to Jerome, and he has one for you too.

It’s not real, I know. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing it was.

It starts again where she crosses her way to my room and onto my bed, bringing her finger to my lips as a way to tell me to stay quiet. She climbs over me, straddling my hips as she slides her hand gradually across my face, fingers brushing against my hair, her thumb pressing lightly against my lips. Her hair is down, wearing a loose fitting shirt with a pair of pink flimsy panties underneath. My eyes wander as she places kisses against my cheek, the edge of my jaw, the column of my neck, and then she gently pushes me back onto the bed, the neckline gaping as she leans further into me, wanting me, needing me.

My hands mechanically meet her hips, stroking the soft skin there, she’s so delicate, I could break her.

I’m about to say something, something about how much I’ve been waiting for this day but she cuts me off with a kiss, pulling back only when she’s satisfied she’s kissed me into a silent stupor, eyes searching my own before trailing over my face.

“Don’t say anything, Jerome,” she whispers against my skin, the breath of her words simultaneously sending chills down my body and causing my chest to painfully ache. She rolls her body against mine, the slow grind of her hips into my own makes me emit a loud moan out of me. “We need to be quiet or everyone will hear us, okay? Can you be quiet for me, Jerome?”

I nod my head, a rush of exhilarating want spreading through every inch of my body as I gaze up into her eyes.

She sits back as she unbuttons my shirt, working her lower body in slow, circular movements against me. By the time she’s done, I’m already so stiff and ready for her under her hips. I free my arms from the shirt before I slip my hands under the thin material of her own, palms dragging over warm skin, until I reach her breasts, cupping her, flicking her taut nipples with my thumbs. She pulls the shirt over her head and tilts back, the cool blue light emphasizing the dip of her collarbone, the shadows falling on her naked torso.

She’s beyond beautiful.

I drink in the sight of her, her hair trailing over her shoulders, her lips falling open just slightly when I sit up and place my warm mouth over her breast, languidly moving my tongue over her in a way I know makes her hypersensitive to my touch. She moans, loudly, and I release her skin, pulling her head down to meet mine, kissing her with an intensity I don’t even fully expect, but we need to be quiet, we can’t get caught, I need to be quiet. When we break apart, our chests are pressing together as we pant in unison, her hands fumbling with the button and zipper of my pants, and I gently ease her hands away to do it myself. I slip the remaining restrictive items of clothing down my legs while she falls back and pulls off her cute panties down her soft legs.

She settles back over me and I move to grasp her hips, to guide her onto my almost painfully hard erection, but then she shakes her head, takes my hand, and slides it to her core. My gaze never leaves her eyes when I rub my fingers against her, slicking them with her arousal, and then I add another two fingers into her. She’s so warm and so fucking wet around me, and for a split second I forget that I need to be quiet.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” I say, moaning her name. She presses her hand against my mouth, heavy lidded eyes peering down at me, shaking her head at me.

“Quiet, Jerome,” she murmurs softly, and I nod my head in response. She takes my silent nod as a promise and tugs at my hand once more, indicating that she wants something else filling her, something I’m more than happy to give.

She strokes up and down the length of my cock once, before I push up with my hips at the same moment she lowers herself down onto me, and I’m trying desperately not to say her name again. I can’t risk having her stop, not when I need this, need her so damn badly. I watched her intently, the way her shaking, gasping breaths ripple through the rest of her, the way her back arches and her breasts shift with each movement, each slow, hard thrust of my cock into her warmth. It’s happening too quickly, despite our languid pace, and I can’t help it. I say her name again, around a grunt.

“Shit, you feel so fucking good.”

She doesn’t stop this time, just keeps meeting my thrusts with her own movements, and I know she’s close, so close, I just need to get her there first so I can follow. She reaches down, glides her fingers against herself, and I’ve always loved watching her do this. My thrusts falter out of time because I’m so fixated on the way she brings herself closer to climax, and her name is spilling from my lips over and over and over again, and her eyes flick open with her orgasm and it’s so damn amazing and I’m about to—

“Jerome, earth to Jerome!” she waved her hand in front of my face to bring me out of my trance, “I would like to speak to Jerome please!” she exclaimed with a short laugh. The reverie was over. I didn’t even realize she was sitting on the bench across from me because I was thinking about us. I just hoped she kept her eyes on my face and not downwards.

“I’m still here, dollface,” I told her with a light chuckle, “I just have a lot on my mind,” I said absentmindedly, not even able to come up with a good fucking excuse.

“Yeah, I can tell,” she replied earnestly. “Which is why I got you something!” she chirped before she pulled something out of her coat pocket, revealing two small stretchy bracelets with bright red and yellow striped porcelain beads.

“To commemorate our one year anniversary! Can you believe it’s been one year already since we met?” she squealed in excitement, and I opened my hand for her to place one on my palm. I almost forgot. I was too busy thinking about the million ways I could take her, or all the ways that she could take me.

No, that wasn’t correct.

I didn’t feel like celebrating shit because one long painstakingly slow year had passed, and I hadn’t accomplish shit but useless pining over a girl who didn’t give a fuck how I felt. That wasn’t worth celebrating for, that was worth ignoring, and acting like all that time wasted didn’t exist. I didn’t need the fucking remainder of how pathetic this all was.

“You do like it right?” she questioned when I didn’t say anything because I was thinking about how I had to conceal how fucking upset I was. “It’s not too girly or anything? I just thought it was a cute idea,” she added. Yeah, real fucking cute. I really didn’t give a shit if it was ‘girly’ or not, and she started rambling about how she thought it was fitting for how we met, which was here, at the circus, obviously.

I still remembered the day like it was yesterday. She felt sorry for me because I was smoking by my lonesome on a haystack, just watching the night sky and getting some much needed fresh air after a beating from my bitch of a mother when I failed to please her over something so petty it wasn’t even worth mentioning. I just needed to relax, calm the screaming in my head of how much I wanted to beat her, kill her, slice her until there was nothing left of her.

I took a long drag between my lips as I just sat in silence, even though the old hag’s shouting continued ringing in my head, I found that it would quiet down whenever I smoked outside by myself.

Then she came up to sit next to me, telling me how much she needed a cancer stick herself because she had a long day. She had just broke up with her piece of shit of a boyfriend, something she said she should have done a while ago but didn’t have the guts to go through with it.

I shared my cigarette with her, and she inhaled the smoke that took her lungs. She vented to me, poured her heart out to me about how shitty her relationship was with her ex, how she needed to stop falling for the mysterious yet charming type. I found myself wondering if her body, like mine, underneath all her layers of clothes concealed shades of black and blue printed across that soft skin. She confirmed it when she said he didn’t know how to control his anger, that he would unleash it on her when all she did was try to love him. But what I admired about her was her strength, how she took matters into her own hands, and ended things with him before things got any uglier than it already was. Maybe, she was braver than me in some ways, and that alone piqued my interest. She told me she wasn’t sure why she was telling me all this but then she realized it was because she didn’t have anyone else to talk to. I smiled at that, and I understood where she was coming from because I didn’t have anyone to talk to either.

“Jerome?” she asked, her head tilted to the side as she looked at me with concern.

I forced a smile on my face before I replied, “Yeah, it’s cute, I’ll wear it.”

A moment passed, and then another. Another even longer than the two before slid after that. It was the sort of pause full of unease and dread, which promised only to intensify in this stifling, strained air. I felt like all the words I longed to say ended up rotting on the back of my tongue, sliding back down into my whole system where it poisoned me, filling my mind with nagging little needling fears that were so hard to dismiss.

“Jerome. What’s the matter?”

Say it’s nothing, a cold, dark voice snapped. Such was the usual tone of my thoughts whenever it came to having a conversation with her that ended up comprised mostly of lies. Say it’s nothing, go on. Do it. Lie to her.

“Jerome?” she prompted.

“Nothing,” I replied without even looking at her.

I told you to say it’s nothing, not say nothing, you fucking idiot. Internal, brutal monologues like this were not new to me, nor was the bone-charring, marrow-boiling fire of need that welled up inside me. Both were my default agonizing states of mind and body whenever she was closed by, made all the worse by the fact that she was now stepping up to join me at my side of the bench and not across from me, openly concerned and curious.

No, don’t do that. Don’t put your hand on my shoulder, don’t duck down to look me in the eye, don’t do anything just — stop looking so fucking sincere, fuck. It kills me.

“Jerome. Talk to me,” she let out a sigh, nibbling on her lower lip like she always did when she was nervous or worried.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I forced another smile on my face when I answered her.

“I know that’s not true, you’ve been wound up for a while now, please stop acting like this is nothing, I know it’s something,” her argument was simple but effective, much like the tone of her voice. Direct, deep, and focused, each statement carefully delivered in such a way that I couldn’t help but envy. My own words seemed so flimsy in comparison, like ink dissolving in water, twisting, fading, bleeding out into a faint stain.

Lifting my eyes up from the floor, I turned my head to the side to look at her. She was close enough that I could see every feature of her face, I had no trouble making out the way her lips curved into another frown, probably the fucking hundredth time within a few minutes, nor did I have a problem counting the folds that wrinkled her forehead, which had appeared with the force of the puzzled look on her face. But if I didn’t want another year to pass by like this then I had to do something.

“Hey, could you do me a favor?” I asked, surprised at the words coming out of my mouth.

“What is it?” she blinked her eyes at me before she continued, “Please tell me what I can do.”

“Hold still for a second.”

Her frown persisted, accompanied by a deeper crease in her brow and a quick side to side shift of her bright eyes as she studied my face. I didn’t say anything.

Holding my breath, my eyes focused and my heart burned as my mind sank into the buzzing fury of my thoughts. I leaned forward, my hands reaching out to stroke my thumbs over her face. Do it already. Just fucking do it. Get it over with.

I wasn’t sure what I expected when I pressed my lips against hers. I hadn’t thought much about the aftermath of the act nearly as much as actually doing this one day. With my hands gently framing her face, I continued to kiss her, harder, fiercer, only barely registering at the last moment how her lips parted under my own. Coaxing, inviting — or was she just surprised?

She wrapped her fingers around my left wrist. Here it comes, my head stinging with a sudden bite of bitterness. Get ready for it. You knew it would happen — the rejection. But her hand stayed in that same place and her lips kept moving under mine, mouth parting just enough to gasp, to breathe, to make room for my tongue. Her fingers tightened around my wrist, stroking the skin with the pads of her fingertips. There was no mistaking that gesture. It was the furthest thing from a rejection — or at least I hoped.

Lips on lips, chest pressed against chest, and all those layers of clothes between us served to only remind me of the skin beneath. It made me shiver once, my head beginning to buzz again, which was quickly silenced when her tongue slid into my mouth. Warm, soft, gentle enough to make a moan crack the silence. I wasn’t sure which one of us had made the sound. Did it matter? It still happened.

The buzzing in my head subsided to a dull roar as a few more senses returned to me besides what was needed for these rushed, feverish kisses. I could feel her other hand on my lower back, her palm pushed flat against the little nagging ache that had been building for days. Her long, warm fingers were spread against the hem of my sweater as we breathed the same air. I could feel the heat flooding into my stomach, making it clench like a fist hungry for the press and scratch of its own fingers. It was like I had completely forgotten where we were, like the world just disappeared, and it was just us.

We both gasped and sighed as we caught our breath. We kept our eyes shut as our lips brushed against each other in the most feather-light caresses. I felt my heart beating so hard that I knew there was no way she couldn’t hear it.

A moment passed in silence, and then another, and then another. Heavy, expectant, it was the sort of pause full of unease and dread. Move back already. Let her go. Don’t look at her if you can help it.

She let go of my wrist completely, her fingers slipping away, lingering before they did. I turned away in an attempt to block out the sight of her completely, but that didn’t stop me from noticing the stunned look frozen on her face — nor the faint red flush warming her cheeks. I didn’t want to be the first one to say anything, I wanted her to be the one to do it.

“Jerome — ” she began, but she didn’t get a chance to finish.

“Jerome!” the most vile, appalling voice called out to me, that could only belong to one old hag. It was such a contrast to the way my babydoll had said it. “Jerome!” the bitch persisted to yell as she stood next to the trailer. It made me want to fucking kill her about a thousand times more just for the interruption.

She looked at me with a quiver of her lower lip, motioning her head slightly to that despicable witch, silently telling me I should go see what she wanted. I didn’t want to go, she was going to tell me something, I could see it in her face, but it was just my fucking luck for something to come up.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be right back,” I apologized to her quickly. I walked forward, not daring to look back, but I could still feel the weight of her eyes on my back, her stare loaded with questions that I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to answer. Not now. Not yet.

When I made my way over to that bitch, she shot me a glare, growling under her breath. “Who the fuck are you talking to?” she hissed.

“She’s a friend,” I told her, my teeth gritted, and my fists clenched, my shoulders arched and rigid that I could feel my whole body ache.

“Oh?” she furrowed her eyebrows before she croaked out, “Didn’t think you had any,” she scoffed, berating me. “Tell the young lady to leave, if you know what’s good for you,” she pointed her finger at me, nearly jabbing my eye when she did, and I wanted to break it right then and there, then slice her to pieces for being such a repulsive bitch. “Does she know that you’re a piece of shit?” she questioned, her voice hoarse. “Because I would gladly tell her if you refuse to obey me,” she told me, her voice croaky, and it took everything in me not to grab her by the neck and choke her to death whenever she threatened me like this. There was a thousand ways I could kill her, and I would have gladly performed each way if I could just for this experience alone.

“I’ll tell her,” I muttered, not even looking in her direction because the sight of her sickened me.

“Good,” she smirked at that, “stop being a lazy ass, you’ve got work to do,” she waved me off before she walked away, lucky for her, if she would have stayed another second who knows what I would have done.

I turned my head back to see if my girl was still there. The bench we were sitting at, where we shared our first kiss, was empty. She was already gone.


	4. My Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerome reflects about that kiss.

The bed caved. The wind whistled. Silence filling the air of my room yet it was anything but in my head.

I didn't stir from the bed sheets. I was sitting in the middle of them and never wanting to leave.

Why did I kiss her? Luck was never on my side.

I should probably tell her that it didn't mean anything. That way things could go back to the way they were, where she would fucking talk to me. She wasn't returning any of my calls or text messages, I was starting to feel even more pathetic for giving a damn.

But I shouldn't be surprised. People like me weren't targets of any fucking goodwill. No flavor of joy, no pressing lips or hands or bodies or limbs or anyone. Just no one. My body felt like it was on fire, but when didn't it lately?

My thoughts were spinning in my head like a merry-go-round while I tried to realize what just had happened, and they only made the heat worse. There was always so many outcomes. So many directions to turn. Outside of this one, this present, laid a future that probably just closed but I had the fortune of still pretending, which was usually the best option.

I kissed her. And what a kiss it had been. Dammit. The friend that I was supposed to act like I never had feelings for so that I could go on with my miserable, sad attempt for a life but I had to fucking blow it.

Those irresistible lips had kissed me in a way that I would have gladly died the very next second with the knowledge that the last thing I had felt before dying was her lips kissing me. I didn't know kisses like that existed, I thought they weren't real, that they only existed in stories and fantasies. But of course, she continued to fucking surprise me, go figure.

It felt so right, despite all awkwardness, clumsiness, and the fact that we had been watched curiously by patrons who couldn't mind their own goddamn business. My lips were tingling and I had felt a warmth in my stomach like I never felt before – not until tonight. It was earth-shaking, breathtaking, head-spinning, everything that I dreamed of.

I sighed, touching my tingling mouth with my fingertips. I could still feel her lips upon it, could still feel her nibbling, pressing, stroking, and licking with her soft lips and her tender tongue until I had felt dizzy and shaky with longing and desire. It felt so damn good, tasted so good, so sweet and wonderful and so very very her. I had lost all sense of time, wishing I could just stay there and kiss her for the rest of my life. For once, I actually felt cherished and loved. But how fucking pathetic is that?

I hated feeling like such a fucking quivering mess, it had done odd things to my stomach that suddenly felt as if an entire army of butterflies fluttered inside, trying to break free and it made me forget how to breathe until my legs had threatened to not support my weight any longer. I really thought that I would black out the very next second, not sure if that would be because of the lack of air in my lungs, the kiss itself, or because of both.

And just when I had thought that I would melt away like ice in the sunshine, she had drawn back from me, leaving me aching for another kiss and for more, much more than just a fucking kiss.

Now I just laid here in this lonely bed, alone, unable to think of anything else but that kiss. She had kissed me as if I was the one and only for her. She didn't kiss me like a friend, she kissed me like a lover would. Which was what made it all so fucking confusing on why she wouldn't respond to me. Me and romance, obviously not a good match, and I should have never made a fool out of myself like I did today.

No, no she didn't deserve to get off that easy. She was going to face this shit whether she liked it or not. Maybe I would have forced myself to get the fuck over it had she not kissed back, but I was fucking tired of all these mixed signals. She wasn't allowed to act like nothing just happened, and ignore this.

I slipped off my bed, threw my coat on, and I was out the door. I knew a shortcut to her house, a way that I would sneak into her house when her parents were asleep so that was exactly where I was headed. When I made my way inside her backyard, I heard a soft, delicate squeak. I quickly hid myself in the bushes where she couldn't see me.

There she was, sprawled on her bed. Her legs were splayed open, nightgown hiked up around her hips and pink lace panties yanked down to her knees. Her right hand was working on her pussy while her left kept her folds open. She had such a beautiful pussy, with large fleshy lips glistening against her soft skin, and a small but prominent clit. Her fingers stroked it relentlessly, until she dipped them inside herself and smeared the wetness she found there over the rest of her pussy to ease the slide of her fingers as the bed creaked along with her movements.

That was when I couldn't help myself from thinking about what I wanted to do to her. I would have held her by her hips, stroking silky skin and peppering her stomach with kisses. Her chest heaved, hair scattered around her flushed face. Lips parted on harsh breath and loud moans. She was so into it and squirming in a nigh frenzy need to get off. I wanted to kiss her and touch every inch of her, claim it all as my own.

She was so fucking wanton and perfect, pleasuring herself. I knew that she would hate me if she knew that I would catch her some nights like this on occasion, that I stood and just watched her until she made herself come. But I couldn't fucking help it. It was without a doubt the most erotic sight I had ever laid eyes on, and I loved to imagine that every single time she was touching herself like this, that she was thinking of me fucking her into oblivion, pleading for me to just take her and do whatever the fuck I wanted with her. I convinced myself that she was putting this show on for me, and that every breathless whisper was of my name. I hated how irresistible she could be, it wasn't fucking fair.

She was quiet at first, whimpering and stifling her gasps. But at some point she must have totally forgotten that the window was open because she grew steadily louder. Much louder. Her whimpers turned into unbridled moans and passionate cries. She was arching up on the bed, head tilted back and the soft skin of her throat exposed. If I was there I would have ducked my head down and pinched the skin between my teeth.

Sometimes I wondered if she wore any underwear at all under her prim dresses and skirts, or if she walked around with the breeze tickling her clit and her slick nether lips smacking together, desperate for touch. She did seem capable of it, as she stroked herself in such frantic motions that she quickly reached her first orgasm, her hips rising off the bed as she gave her loudest cry yet, this one very different from the rest and near melodic sounding. To my ears, it was the most incredible thing I had ever heard. Fuck, I wish I had gotten here sooner.

She pulled her hands away as her body was shaken by shuddering spasms, giving me a perfect view of her contracting pussy through her opened window. Then she fell back against the bed, her chest rising and falling, and her release trickled from her opening down her other hole. I licked my lips, palming myself through my clothes. She was so fucking gorgeous, even more so like this.

I watched as she drew a hand up her stomach, trailing her fingers lightly across her skin while her other started to draw patterns on the inside of her thigh. I would gladly trace my name on her, with my finger or my tongue, or both. I closed my eyes for an instant, just to savor that image. When I dragged them opened again, it was just enough time to see her fingers slide up across her breast and collarbone, then up to comb her fingers through the mess of her hair. Her hand moved down to her breast, pressing her thumbs across her nipples, her eyes fluttering shut. My eyes were practically transfixed on her hands stroking her own skin. She teased her breasts, squeezing and rubbing them until it was clear her whole body was humming with pleasure.

It was simply impossible not to fantasize about her and that lewd body. I wanted to take her – drive into her squelching, soaked pussy, fuck her until she couldn't take any more, and bathe her in my seed.

When she resumed fondling herself, my hand slipped inside my pants, feeling an unbearable constriction there that I couldn't ignore. After her pussy, I would take her ass. Perhaps she had never been fucked there, but I was just desperate to take every single one of her holes. My hand gripped my cock harder, pulling it out and pumping it vigorously. I would take her on all fours, wide-eyed and gasping for air like a dying fish as I split her open. I would take her until she loosened around me and I could plow her ass to my heart's content.

Then I would take her mouth. I took my hand away from my cock and spit on it, bringing the moisture to the tip. I would plunge right down her throat and make her sing in choked moans around my dick. I watched her fingers stroke expertly, her other hand still teasing her breasts. She arched her back and hips against her own ministrations, shivering with every touch. She pushed her fingers inside her to draw out louder moans and the way her body tightened in response was so fucking entrancing. I didn't stop watching her even for a second, drinking in the sight and every sound that spilled from her hot mouth. This was all for me. She was doing this on fucking purpose, hoping that I would come by and see this. I fucking knew it.

I jerked further into the shadows, and she hadn't notice me, involved as she was in her own gratification. Her mouth fell open, the same soft noises tumbling haphazardly into my ears, dashing through my veins with joyous abandon. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut as she scissored herself at a rapid pace, seeking another release. The yard was full of her gasps, echoing in my ears until the only other thing I could hear was her labored breathing. It was only then when I realized that some of the noises were too deep to be her voice that I became aware of my own hand matching her every move.

I stuffed my knuckles into my mouth to muffle the whispers threatening to escape. She mewled loud right then, tensing up, body trembling harder and hips arching more incessantly, finally yet far too soon. Fuck, it was hot. I caught my lower lip, fisting my cock faster, pulling frantically at my own foreskin. She came again, stabbing her fingers inside herself this time until the wave had passed, swiftly bringing them to her lips to taste them. I could give her so much more to taste. My hand covered my head and I contemplated walking up to her and taking her on the spot, mount her like the horny pretty thing she was. I stared fixedly at the slide of her fingers lazily stroking up and down her slit, until my own pleasure crested.

Silence descended over us, and I watched her release the hold on her breasts, withdraw her fingers, and stretch languidly. She laid there for a while, just allowing her breathing to return to normal before she dressed herself again. The night air was suddenly too calm, too still for my desperate need, and I tucked my cock back into my trousers, letting out a quiet sigh.

"Jerome?" her voice startled me, making me jolt right up, and when she realized that it was in fact, me, she gasped loudly with her hand hovered over her mouth. "What the fuck?"

 _Oh shit_.


End file.
